


Better Days

by Missy_dee811



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Community: cap_ironman, Crying, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: After the events on Titan, Tony finds himself drifting in space. When he returns to Earth, he doesn't know how to cope with Peter's death. He starts drinking heavily. Nothing anyone says helps, so it's up to Steve.[Written for the Cap-IM Holiday Exchange 2018.]





	Better Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadowolf19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowolf19/gifts).



> Please note, if you haven't seen the trailer for Avengers: Endgame, this may spoil it.

_Everything would be different now._ He found himself thinking that time and time again. _Everything would be different now._

In some ways, the hardest days were behind him. He knew.

He knew, from experience, that it would only get easier. With each passing day, that fateful day would be further and further away.

And yet, it wasn’t so simple. Would never be so simple.

Things had never been simple, at least, not for him. He kept hearing Peter – the crack in his voice, his plea. _I don’t want to go_ , he said and meant it. Meant every word, with the dread only a teenager could muster. A teenager, that not long before, he had made an Avenger.

_What on earth were you thinking, Stark? Oh, right. You weren’t on earth._

_Would it still be his neighborhood without its friendly Spider-Man?_

Peter would be worried about his neighborhood, would be worried about his aunt, about his friends, about the decathlon team. He would be worried about the man who owned the bodega and its cat.

It would be just like Peter to worry about everyone else.

 

The trip home and been long and arduous. For the most part, Nebula was the one piloting the ship, though it needed very little piloting.

In those first days, he didn’t trust himself enough to make it back home.

Once aboard, she had simply asked, “Where to?”

_There’s nowhere I can go. There’s nowhere I could go. I am as far away from everything as I have ever been and it’s not far enough._

The answer had left his lips before he had thought to answer. “Earth.”

If she had wanted to say something, it didn’t show. She merely nodded and put in the coordinates, letting the ship do most of the work. He should have asked how she knew: how she knew where the earth was, how she knew how to get there.

_Had she ever been to earth? Was there anything there for her?_

_Was she trying to escape, the way he was, and had latched onto the first destination that had sprung to mind or been brought forth?_

He didn’t dare ask her any personal questions. Sometimes, he thought he could try his luck and ask her about the Guardians. It was clear this was their ship. Though he had only spent a short while with them, it was easy to guess which room belonged to whom.

He had kept his distance, at first, hadn’t wanted to intrude. He knew they wouldn’t be coming back, but it felt like looking into someone’s tomb. As the days passed though, he started touring the ship.

Quill had the biggest room, and it was clear he shared it, though Gamora seemed to have her own quarters. He needn’t have wondered what she looked like. Quill, it seemed, had acquired a Polaroid, and had taken pictures of her and the others, and scattered them across his walls.

There was a picture of her, in shadow, as she stood before the window, overlooking the stars. From that sole picture, Tony knew she had to have been the reason their plan collapsed.

He couldn’t say he blamed him. He had let his anger get to him once too and it had cost him a fight. It had left him stranded in a tundra with his heart broken, so not much different.

Not much different at all.

He went back to looking at the pictures adorning the room. Everywhere he looked, there were pictures of them. She looked happy next to him, next to Mantis. He wondered how long they had been living and working together, how long they had been a team. He wondered what would’ve happened to them if he and Gamora had splintered.

 _Would the team have fractured as did his own?_ He would never know.

 

He let the tears fall and tried not to think of Pepper, whom he had left back on earth. She had pleaded with him. She had begged him to stay. It would’ve been so easy to have turned back then, but in no way possible. He had once told Loki they were earth’s mightiest heroes and they would avenge the earth.

He couldn’t have left then, not when he needed to do.

 

Quill seemed to spend most of his time with Gamora, but there was someone else who cropped up in his pictures: a young, arboreal creature often accompanied by a racoon, or Drax.

Tony had noticed a series of pictures of the arboreal creature as a sapling. As he looked around, his thoughts kept drifting to this strange, young creature. He wished he could speak to Quill or this racoon, who seemed to have an endless collection of gadgets and gizmos.

He wouldn’t know what to say to them.

 _Would losing this sapling hurt you as much as it hurt to lose Peter?_ Even in his mind, it sounded crass.

 

He thought of Mantis and her calming voice. In most of the pictures, she seemed to be touching someone. Never Gamora, though. Tony wondered why that was. They seemed to spend so much time together, and yet, she didn’t let her touch her.

He thought of Natasha. How she kept her distance, even when close. _Had she turned to dust?_

He thought of the way Mantis had sounded – wounded and in pain – when she informed them Thanos was mourning Gamora’s death, though she had died by his hand, as an offering for the Soul Stone.

He wondered if Mantis would know what to say to May. Maybe she could show him how he felt. Powerless and unable to stop her nephew from fading away.

_I’m sorry, May. He didn’t want to die. It’s all my fault. He’s so young. What was I thinking? Making him an Avenger. I should’ve known better. I can’t bring him back. I wish I could, May. I wish I could, but I can’t bring your nephew back._

 

A sinister thought had entered his mind. Perhaps, the Avengers had also perished as had the Guardians. Maybe he was alone. Truly. Flying through space, thousands of miles per hour, barreling toward the planet he had called home all these years. He had no way of knowing if it was still there. 

As the days turned into weeks, he started paying attention to all the little trinkets Quill had on display, not just in his room, but across the ship. It seemed as if he hadn’t been to earth in, at least, a decade. No one had used a Zune in as many years and seeing it on Quill’s dresser had brought a smile to his face.

It had seemed fitting. Quill, who seemed to love music, would have loved the Zune. Though it would never replace his love for cassettes. Tony could understand that. He kept vinyl records, most of them his mother’s. The songs she had loved became the songs he loved, and whenever he listened to them, he thought of her, of her memory.

One day, Tony sat down and put the Zune on shuffle. He was happily surprised to hear the songs of his youth.

Soon, he began to cry. Maybe Quill had inherited his love of music from his mother. Maybe they had had that in common.

No one used MP3 players anymore. Not when cellphones and tablets could do the same and so much more.

 

He saw very little of Nebula then. She would offer him food but never her company. They would talk about their destination but never anything else.

He didn’t know how to approach her. What would he say to her?

_Did you know these people? Were they important to you? Do you mourn them? Do you feel the way I feel? Do you feel as if you didn’t do enough, as if you could’ve done more?_

 

In another time, he would have hounded her about the mechanics of the ship. Would have asked her questions about the tools aboard. He would’ve taken it apart and rebuilt it just to learn as much as he could. Would’ve used that knowledge to make another suit, one more adaptable. A suit he could use in space.  

These days, he was too tired to do any of that. He slept for long stretches. There was no day or night. Being awake meant thinking, meant agonizing over the 14 million different scenarios and how they would’ve played out.

They had to ration their food and water. He had lost several pounds and the lack of energy was affecting him worse and worse every day. He wasn’t sure how much longer they would have. Nebula had assured him she didn’t need as much food as he did, but she too was slimmer by the day.

 

In those first few days though, he couldn’t stop looking out into the vastness before them. He watched, from behind the thickest glass, the stars and planets.

Flying had brought him so much joy. He thought of that first flight, over Santa Monica. For so long, he had dreamed of flying out into space. Of course, he had done that. The memory haunted him.

He had been a fool to think he could ever be a father, ever be better than Howard.  

 

Returning to earth had been a mistake. He had sought a cheeseburger but had thrown up right after. He hadn’t had protein in months. His body couldn’t process it anymore.

He had been thrilled to see Pepper. She no longer wore the ring, but it didn’t matter. She had survived. He never got around to sending her his message.

He didn’t know if they could pick up the pieces this time.

“God, Tony,” she said, wiping his reddened eyes. “You know I hate job hunting.”

“You’re my CEO.”

“I’m just glad to have you back, Tony. That’s all.”

“Me too, Pep. Me too.”

He was. He was glad to be back, but it all felt different. Too different.

 

Happy was overjoyed. “I knew you would make it back.”

“Thank you, Happy. I wasn’t too sure myself, but it’s good to be back.”

He sat in the back of the car. I didn’t feel real. He had spent those long weeks rationing every bit of food. They had run out of water and had been close to running out of oxygen, but Tony had managed to make it back to earth.

Nebula had said she had business to do and had left without a word. Tony had wished he had talked to her while he had had the chance, but he had never mustered the courage, but now the time was past.

I do have someone I need to see. Would you mind?”

“Not at all. Like old times.”

 

They drove to Peter’s apartment complex. He hoped May hadn’t moved to different unit or a different complex. He had started to wonder when she didn’t answer the door. On the third knock, he heard the knob turn.

She stared at him and then shut the door in his face.

“I deserved that.”

She opened it again.

“My nephew is dead. Dead because he thought he could be a superhero. Dead because he thought he could be an Avenger. With great power comes great responsibility, Mr. Stark, and you had a responsibility. You should have protected him. Why didn’t you protect him?”

He had no right. He had no right to cry in front of this woman he barely knew as she berated him. He had no right, none, but he couldn’t control the tears.

“He died in my arms, May.”

She stopped midsentence, though Tony hadn’t caught what she said.

“What… What do you mean?”

He pointed toward the couch and she stepped aside, letting him walk into the apartment. It was as he remembered, with a few, minor changes.

He caught sight of Peter’s door and broke down.

“He… I don’t – I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what happened on earth. We – We weren’t the only ones, but we weren’t on earth. Next thing I knew… The others – the others had started turning to dust. Peter had been warning me. He told me he wasn’t feeling well.”

May sat in silence, covering her face with her hands.

“I – I held him in my arms as he cried and withered away, May. It wouldn’t have mattered where he was. It wouldn’t have mattered. He’s gone.”

 

He hadn’t been able to look her in the eyes when he left later that evening. They had sat on the couch and cried. She had shown him pictures from when he was a baby. Pictures from when he was a little boy.

 _He was still a boy_ , thought Tony.

_And to think, I had wanted a son._

 

After Happy had dropped him off, he made his way to the penthouse from the entrance in the garage, avoiding everyone. He had made a beeline for the bar and reaching for the first bottle he touched, pulled out a bottle of Jack.

After that, there was no going back. There was always a bottle, or two, and often a flask hidden in his suit jacket or in one of the drawers of his desk. He drank at board meetings, at press conferences, and before congressional hearings.

 

Rhodey had commented on it, but Tony shrugged him off.

“Platypus, I’m fine. Better than fine, even.”

“Your girlfriend broke off your engagement because she thought you were dead, you nearly died trying to get back home, and the kid you were mentoring _is_ dead. Tony, I’ve known you most of my adult life. You’re not well.”

“Rhodey, I promise, I’m fine.”

“You’re not, but you’re going to keep lying to yourself. This is just what you do. Dammit, Tony. You can’t act as if you’re not affected. We both know you’re full of shit.”

Tony didn’t say anything.

Rhodey sighed. “Tony, I want to help you, but you have to want to help you. When you do – want to help yourself, that is – give me a call.”

Rhodey made his way to the door. He stopped and turned, opening his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. In the end, he left without saying another word. Tony knew he was right, of course, but he didn’t need help. He was handling it in his own way. It would be fine. He just needed to work.

After he left, Tony grabbed the closest bottle and started to chug until his eyes watered. Later that night, he threw up, having crawled to the toilet.

 _No vodka_ , he said to himself. _Stick to the whiskey._

 

He avoided the Avengers at all cost. Thor had left, looking for what was left of his people. Natasha went searching for Clint, who had been missing. Bruce spent his time pouring over missing persons reports.

Tony tried to help him with those, but it was too much. They had failed, _he_ had failed all these people, and because of them, because of _him_ , they were gone.

Steve had remained in the compound. He had remained in contact with the Wakandans. Tony didn’t know what they discussed when Okoye called. He didn’t even know her name, Bruce had filled him in.

“She was T’Challa’s right-hand woman. His General. She had been right there with us on that day. But now, with both T’Challa and Shuri missing… It’s all on her now.”

Tony didn’t envy her.

He didn’t want to see Steve. He felt exposed whenever he was around him, as if Steve knew what happened, which was silly. Everyone knew. He had been talking about it on the late-night show circuit. Everyone knew he had spent weeks making his way back to earth, had teamed up with the Avengers upon his return, and had vowed to do whatever was necessary to ameliorate all the suffering and ensure something like this would never happen.

He didn’t tell them he drank until he passed out, though.

 

One evening, Steve found him in the common area, with his head on his forearm, nursing a drink in the other.

“If you’re going to yell at me, just go back to sleep, Steve. I don’t need this, and not from you.”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t – I didn’t come here to…”

He balled his fists, then, clenched and unclenched his fingers.  

“You blame yourself for his death. It wasn’t your fault any more than it was mine. You have to know that.”

“I do, Steve,” said Tony, meeting his eyes.

“I know he would have turned to dust anyway, but that’s not why it hurts, Steve. Well, it is, but not… It’s not just that.”

“Then what is it, Tony? Tell me.”

Tony closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Steve had taken a seat next to him.

“What is it about this that has you like this?”

“I wanted a son, Steve. I woke up one morning and had dreamed about being a father, about having a son. Pepper and I were going to get married and have a son. It was going to be perfect.

“I held Peter in my hands as he disintegrated before my eyes, but that’s not the worst part. The worst part was realizing I had had a son all along. He wasn’t mine, of course. May had raised him, but he looked up to me. He wanted to be like me.

“And I know exactly what it’s like to… I know what it’s like to want that kind of acknowledgement from the person you admire and… I don’t know that I ever made him feel like I cared about him. And you know what? There’s not a thing I can do to change that because he’s gone, because he turned to dust, because his ashes were on my hands.

“That’s why I drink, Steve. Because I had wanted something I already had and now it’s gone and I’m never going to get it back. I’m never going to get what I had wanted.”

He hadn’t noticed he had started to cry, but Steve held him, and he cried on his shoulder. This was yet another thing he had never thought he’d have. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible. Maybe there was still a way to make things right. He had to believe that.

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog this on [Tumblr](http://viudanegraaa.tumblr.com/post/181788952461/better-days-missydee811-marvel-cinematic).


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